Crossroads
by Lift the Wings
Summary: Carsen Tate encounters a stranger on the road; a tall, blue-eyed, former sheriff who offers her a place to stay. Rick/OC one-shot.


Disclaimer: Don't own _the Walking Dead_. Not profiting off of this in any way shape or form. Just wanted to play around a little and give Rick a moment hehe

A/N: This is not really a companion to my other story _Chaos_; it does mention Kit, who is the main character in that one and I may bring this OC into that story when the time comes, but who knows. You don't need to read that to understand this. Unless, of course, you wanna check it out ;D It's a Daryl/OC for you Daryl lovers. No Lori in this, just a fun (sorta) little Rick/OC

WDWDWDWDWDWDWDWDWD

"How many walkers have you killed?"

"You don't want to know my name first?" I queried, my tone flat, halfway between disbelief and sarcasm.

His blue eyes never left mine, never blinked as he clasped his hands together loosely before him. I had thought he was a mirage at first, striding down the blistering asphalt with a gun at his hip and another swung harmlessly over his shoulder. But no, he was real. He had stopped me, spoken to me, wondered if I had a group. I should have been suspicious – strangers on the road, especially alone, could prove to be dangerous. But I was tired of running, tired of being afraid – tired of being alone.

The expression on his thin, bearded face never changed, blank as ever as shifted his weight to one foot and reiterated, "How many walkers have you killed?"

"Lost count after thirty," I replied reluctantly, digging my fingers into my hazel eyes and sighing, "don't like keeping track."

_Not anymore. Not after-_

"How many people have you killed?"

"Four."

"Why?"

"Mercy."

That threw the man off guard, his dark brow furrowing in alarm. He gathered his wits about him quickly, though, inquiring slowly, "Care to elaborate?"

"No," I replied, clearing my throat of the tremor that ran through it. If he noticed, he didn't say, instead running a hand along his scruffy jaw as I continued, "I don't. But I will. They got bitten. I had to. Couldn't see them like that. Leave 'em like that."

"I understand," he replied, a thin-fingered hand shifting through his wavy black hair, "I do. I've done it myself. It's a difficult thing to do."

"Kind of an understatement," I let out a reluctant laugh, rubbing my hands together awkwardly, "so, er, do I pass the test or what?"

His calculating gaze swept studiously over me for a moment or two before he nodded to himself, "Yeah, yeah you did."

"With flying colors?"

A smirk stretched across his face, his brows lifting a moment later in surprise, as though he hadn't expected the smile to light on his lips. He looked younger, more at ease.

It made him look more than a little attractive.

"Yeah, with flyin' colors," he replied, outstretching a hand in that familiar way that seemed so foreign in this new world, "Rick Grimes."

"Carsen Tate," I responded, clasping his dry, calloused hand and giving it a shake. He held my hand, so much smaller than his own, for a moment longer than necessary – probably remembering a time when a handshake _wasn't_ an unusual thing – before releasing it and gesturing toward the bag at my feet.

"Think you're ready to go? Prison's not far off."

"You arresting me, Officer?" I joked, retrieving my meager belongings and slinging them over a shoulder. The lean man didn't offer to carry it – I would've been mildly offended if he had, being on my own for so damn long – but he had an armful of assault rifle, so I wasn't too upset.

"I was one, ya know," he mused suddenly, his eyes alight with amusement, gesturing with an arm to start walking. Before the world went to shit, I would have been a little more than uneasy, accompanying a strange man – at gunpoint no less – to God knows where, but him being so heavily armed, I couldn't help but be rather comforted by the gun. "A sheriff."

"Really?" I inquired, brows tipping upward in surprise, a grin stretching across my thin face, "you're well-suited for this world, then, aren't'cha? Didn't have to try and figure out how to work a gun like the rest of us."

"Sure didn't hurt any," he agreed, slinging the gun over his shoulder and squinting out at the road before us searchingly, "you seen any walkers 'round here? I killed a couple closer to the prison, but haven't seen any more this far out."

"One or two, but I took care of 'em," I answered, studying the man beside me. He was a foot taller than I, and thin, lean; his arms were well-defined even beneath the shirt and I knew he killed these walkers on a daily basis to keep in such good shape. There was an air about him, too, though, that put my mind at ease. He was a leader, born and bred; he took care of the people he allowed into his group.

And I was part of that now.

"Daryl."

I was drawn suddenly from my thoughts, brow knitting together as I stared down the smoldering stretch of road toward a dirty, leather-clad man armed with a black crossbow. His silent gaze swept from Rick to me, lingering as he assessed – what? My usefulness? My trustworthiness? He didn't have to worry; I was damn good with a knife and willing to work with his group if they offered me the same courtesy.

"You ask her?" he questioned gruffly, though he seemed resigned to my appearance; if Rick stood beside me willingly, I had already passed the test. He simply nodded when the former sheriff did, allowing the crossbow to hang loosely in his grasp. "Took care of a coupla walkers sniffin' around. We should prob'ly get back soon, though; it's gettin' on toward dusk."

Rick conceded and stated, "Alright. Gotta get back ta Carl an' Judith anyway. Oh, by the way," he interrupted the hunter's exit, "Daryl, this is Carsen. Carsen, Daryl."

He did little more than nod, my words catching in my throat as he disappeared before I could so much as wave in his direction. A loner, then. Strange that he was with a group, following another strong alpha.

"Friendly guy."

"Yeah," Rick shot me a knowing grin, stuffing his hands in his pockets and beginning his easy-paced trek once more, "don't know how Kit deals with him half th' time. Kit's his, well, girlfriend, I guess. Wife? I dunno; titles don't mean much anymore ta some people."

There was a decidedly solemn tint to his voice, though, that told me he felt quite the opposite. Did he have a girlfriend, then? Or a wife? It was risky to make connections _now_, but sometimes that's what us survivors needed. He was lucky, then, if he had someone back at this prison.

God knows it'd been a while since I had that luxury.

"_Carsen!_"

Rick's yell caught me off guard, but not quite as much as the sharp, unforgiving fingers digging into my arm. With a wild yelp, I rounded on the walker, cursing myself for its larger size, for its unyielding grasp as it tore at my flesh, for its rotting corpse.

Avoiding the gnashing teeth as best I could, I tucked my head to one side and rammed my shoulder into its jaw. I repeated the action two, three, four times until the creature's bone shattered. It loosened its grip just enough for me to disentangle myself from it; tripping over my own feet, I stumbled backwards, arms flailing wildly to balance myself out.

Rick barreled past me, a wicked looking blade in hand as he drove it into the walker's skull. Black, thick blood burst from the wound, its jaw hanging loosely from its skull as it hit the ground with a thud.

Spinning on a heel, I retrieved my own hunting knife – a veritable machete that I'd lifted off some fallen soldier in a field – brandishing it at another encroaching walker. My heart pounded in my chest as I watched it stumble forward, ungodly moans escaping its bloodied maw. A quick glance told me there were four on the road, about six or seven more emerging from the woods.

Rick called for his companion, kicking the walker's body away from him and hastening toward my side. He caught my elbow, eyes sweeping down to my upper arm in concern, "You hurt?"

"Nothing I can't handle, Rick," I assured him, tugging my arm to my chest and rounding on the walker. It was a young woman – or else, it used to be – with a missing arm and a gaping wound in her stomach. She may have had intestines at one point, but they had spilled out, splattered across a road or filling some walker's belly.

She didn't get the opportunity to sink her teeth into either Rick or I; I rammed the knife upward, through her jaw, and twisted the blade hard. Her eyes rolled back into her head, her body falling limply, heavily, against mine.

Rick helped me shove her away, retrieving the gun from his shoulder and taking aim. He didn't pull the trigger, though, uncertainty sweeping across his face, "I don't wanna draw more."

"More might be coming anyway," I retorted breathlessly, inching myself closer to the better-armed man and peering over his shoulder. No walkers were stalking up on us from behind, but I could guarantee that, the minute that gun went off, they would swarm.

We would have to be quick about our escape.

"There's a pistol in my waistband," the former officer informed me, nodding toward his back, "grab it. You know how to work it?"

"Told you it took time," I replied, snaking an arm around him, my hand straying to his lower back and clasping around the warm metal of the handgun, "not that I couldn't shoot one. I'll have you know, I have damn good aim."

"I'll take your word for it," he answered, raising the gun to his cheek and releasing a spray of bullets into the oncoming walkers. They hit the ground like rocks, blood spurting from their wounds, though some hadn't been hit in the head; those few stumbled and crawled toward us, only falling still when my bullets pierced their skulls.

I wish we would have been paying attention to the road behind us. Something plowed into me, the creature's full weight dragging me to the ground. My head hit the pavement, stars exploding before my eyes, as I struggled to dislodge the walker from my body. Any moment, I expected to feel the tearing teeth, the clawing fingers; the only thing that spared me was the bag of supplies thrown up over the nape of my neck. The walker couldn't seem to get around the tough, black fabric, its movements jerky, but persistent. It would get around the bag and dig into me the moment it could, that much I was sure of.

But suddenly, the weight was gone and I could breathe again. I heard Rick grunt, followed by the thud of a body on cement. Heaving a gasping breath, I rolled onto my side, hazel eyes catching sight of him and the walker immediately.

Rick had set about bashing the walker's skull against the concrete, teeth bared and jaw clenched as the creature writhed unsuccessfully against him. It didn't take long for him to finish it off, but he was winded, unaware of the one approaching him from behind.

Without a moment to spare, I lunged from the ground and plowed into the creature. It was a frail, skinny thing, more skeletal than anything, its legs giving way from beneath it easily. We skidded a foot or two, my knife in hand before I could blink. Driving the blade into its temple, I cursed, adding a few extra stabs in there for the hell of it.

A sharp tug at my leg drew me away from the walker, my knife flying from my hand before I stop it. I grabbed for Rick's gun, but I had lost it somewhere along the way; I was defenseless against the walker tugging me ever closer to its mouth.

Raising a booted foot, I unleashed a torrent of kicks on the unlucky thing's face, the bones of his nose, his forehead, his jaw breaking underfoot. He wasn't letting go, though, intent on making me his meal. He had a good, strong grip for an undead monster, dragging me closer to his dangerous teeth as he lay, sprawled and bleeding, across the pavement.

"Carsen!"

With a quick glance, I sought Rick out of the crowd. He was a bloodied mess, but intently, methodically, made his way toward me. Chopping, swinging, hacking, he moved through the walkers, downing each one in his path.

Still smashing anything on my walker that I could, I reached for Rick's fallen pistol. It landed a good few feet from me; if I couldn't dislodge the walker, there was a good chance I would be just another mercy kill for the sheriff. Straining, I grunted and growled, my heart pounding wildly in my chest as I stretched out my arm for the gun. My fingertips brushed against the metal, but it slid from my grasp.

Pressing a boot to the walker's head, I used it as a sort of springboard, lunging at the gun and finally retrieving the weapon. A relieved grin lit across my face and I rounded on the creature half wrapped around my leg.

A quick shot and the walker fell limp, its clawing fingers stilling and its biting mouth agape. Turning my attention to Rick, I noticed one or two lingering behind him as he dealt with the few at his front.

It didn't take much to down the walkers at his back and I lowered the gun with a trembling hand. Adrenaline still coursed through my veins even after the fighting was over, making my movements jerky, wild.

Rick didn't pay that much mind, though, hastening to my side and extending a hand. He hauled me to my feet, his hands at my waist to steady me. He dipped his head, dark brows furrowing disconcertedly, "You alright?"

I really should have thought before I acted. It would have made things less awkward on the walk back, since Daryl kept skinning an eye at me in suspicion, but I acted on instinct and it was one of the few things in the post-apocalyptic world I didn't regret doing.

Latching onto the lapels of Rick's shirt, I dragged the man down to my level and smashed my lips to his. My mind caught up with my actions half a second later, my eyes widening to near saucer status, but before I could pull away and apologize, his lips molded to mine, his tongue sweeping out to trace my lower lip.

Well, if he wasn't backing down, neither was I.

One of his large, rough hands kept hold of my hip, but the other shifted beneath my threadbare tee, feeling its way up my side and around to my back. My hands slipped around his neck, fingers plunging into his thick, soft hair.

His tongue plundered my mouth, battling mine for dominance as I pressed myself flush against him. He didn't push me away, a deep, growling groan escaping him as I moaned into his mouth.

"Thought I-"

That startled the sheriff, sending him back and away from me, avoiding eye contact at all costs as Daryl glowered down the road at me. Rick cleared his throat, fishing for an excuse, but I beat him to it, flushing as I played with the hem of my shirt, "Heat of the moment. Sorry. Let's, uh… which way's the prison?"

Rick gestured toward Daryl and I made for the hunter; I couldn't meet his gaze, embarrassed at having been caught making out with his friend.

Whoops.

The two men followed my lead in silence, Rick on my left and Daryl on my right. Chewing on my lower lip and turning all sorts of red, I nearly jumped out of my skin when something brushed against my wrist. Chancing a glance at Rick, I met his gaze, relief flooding through me as he offered me the smallest of smiles.

Things could get weird, rocky, or downright dangerous with this group, but at least I had a group now. At least I had somewhere I could call home and people I could call family.

WDWDWDWDWDWD

So, please tell me what you think. I know it might be a little out of character for Rick to just accept some random stranger kissing him out of the blue, but hey, it's been a while since Lori (this is, obviously, after her death and after the fight with the Governor), and it was kind of one of those 'yay-we're-alive!' situations.


End file.
